


Trinity Forged

by navaan



Category: DC Extended Universe, Justice League (2017)
Genre: Banter, Explicit Sexual Content, Friendship/Love, Lasso of Truth, Multi, POV Female Character, Threesome - F/M/M, Training
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-20
Updated: 2019-01-20
Packaged: 2019-10-09 00:38:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17396804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/navaan/pseuds/navaan
Summary: Diana and Bruce train with Clark and show him a few tricks -- things get out of hand, because Diana thinks there's something they all want and may need.





	Trinity Forged

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Impala_Chick](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Impala_Chick/gifts).



“You should try using your whole body, instead of just your fists,” Bruce says. They’re in the new training room under the Hall of Justice that used to be Wayne Manor. Diana's sure Bruce used to operate from down here, but he has opened the caves up to them, installed not only a smart computer system that answers all their commands, but also a training room that can withstand the likes of her, Superman and Aquaman.

"Are you saying when I hit with my fist only, it's not enough brute force for you."

"It's for me," Bruce said with the tiniest hint of wryness that he hides immediately behind his usual glibness. "We don't know what we'll face out there next though. I'd feel better if you knew the basics."

"The basics," Clark repeated, disbelieve clear in his quite neutral remark. "I know how to beat up a villain, Batman. And I know how to beat up you."

"Most of the time that's enough," Bruce shoots back. "But if I would want to take you out I..."

"If," Clark says and folds his arms across his chest.

"When," Bruce amends with a confrontational edge.

"Ah, ha."

It's strange to watch them, squaring off in the middle of this new training room that Bruce and Victor have worked on for the past couple of weeks to give Clark a place to test his strength, pretending now they don't care genuinely and deeply. Diana wants to shake her head and sigh at the banter and the insistence to test each other's boundaries. It's male posturing at its finest. It's silly and childish, and yet they both fall back to this kind of behavior when they come closer.

Here they stand - Batman without the mask, Superman in full costume - looking like surly children ready to fight.

Diana isn't fooled.

She knows she hasn't been this comfortable in a long time.

Here she's an equal among equals.

And while it's easy to forget that Clark didn't have her upbringing, never had the advantage of superpowered peers to hone his skills, she knows he feels the same. He'd been forced to work alone, keeping his secrets, keeping his strength hidden for most his life, and this is a new found freedom.

Bruce, on the other hand, has styled himself to be the ultimate loner and is quite obviously a team player when he wants to be. It all makes for an interesting contrast.

This is them.

"Are you suggesting I should take you down to test a theory?" Bruce asks.

"If you want to teach me a lesson."

No, Diana isn't fooled. She knows love - and what she sees here is love pure and straightforward between all the forced layers of complication. Diana knows herself too.

She knows when she feels the stirring tendrils of emotion when someone has become so dear to her that she wants to protect and cherish, sometimes to command, and sometimes to let go. The feeling isn't new, and Steve Trevor wasn't the first one to ever stir it in her - only the first man.

And here are two that even her sisters couldn't call unworthy of her and she hasn't made a choice, because it's impossible to make.

"Bruce wants to say," Diana starts, "that your technique could benefit from combat lessons. You've never had an equal training partner."

Clark stops and looks at her. The dark gaze of Batman also shifts to her.

It's all new and exciting. They heed her words; they defer to her when there's conflict or a choice to make, easy and without any struggle. She knows they revere her.

She smiles.

Yes, she knows love, and she can see it shining in their eyes faced with the same choice they think they can't make. They need to understand the real power of love without any boundaries imposed on them by man's world.

She does what she thinks is right and attacks. Her motions fluid as she uses her whole body on her first fist strike. With his Kryptonian physiology, Clark can't be hurt so easily, but she lets him feel the impact of her fist and makes sure she finds an opening for another well-aimed punch to make her point.

Clark flies across the room like a large Kryptonian red and blue rag doll. When he looks up from a pile of limbs and bright red cape, he considers her stance and holds her gaze. She suspects that makes it easier for him to ignore Bruce -- who's wearing the neutral expression that passes for a smile.

"Point taken," Clark says curtly; the interest that flashes through his eyes mixes with apprehension. She wonders if he's thinking of death at the claws of the Doomsday abomination or of his fateful encounter with his own kind.

Throwing a furtive glance in Bruce's direction while Superman picks himself up off the ground, he finds Bruce's attention divided. He's considering Diana while keeping Clark at the corner of his vision. As always, the Batman wants to stay on top of the situation.

"Teach me then," Clark requests, not making it a challenge or demand.

It's one of his qualities: his modesty, his ability to listen and defer to others even though he's the most powerful being on the planet. She loves that about him, and she lets some of that bleed into her answering smile. A part of her can't help but wonder if he makes love like that. It's lascivious thought, and in this world she would have been brought up to forget it before it became act and passion. But from the corner of her eyes, she sees Bruce make a step forward -- and the answer to her own little dilemma of wanton choices never made, is there in the way Bruce contemplates them both. Interest is burning through his dispassionate facade.

The bickering, the needling -- it all makes sense.

Love.

It's guarded, unspoken -- perhaps -- unrealized _love_. Undecided who of these equals make the better partner, makes _a_ partner.

And that's when she knows: in this world or any other, she's not going to hide her love for both of these exceptional men. She's going _live_ it, and she's going to help them see the whole picture as she can already see it now that all pieces of the puzzle fall into place.

She steps with Bruce, smiling and open.

She gestures for Bruce to explain why Clark failed to withstand Diana's last assault.

Does he know how good a mentor he would be? Does he know how well he does play with others when he chooses to?

Diana suspects he does that in the quiet loneliness of his chosen mission Bruce has always craved and equal as much as Clark had, as much as Diana had missed one.

The love wells up in her chest, unconditional and warm, while Bruce leads Clark through the steps of combat, making it an elegant training dance. She knows her own steps.

When Bruce is done explaining, she takes over and puts force into her movements again, grins when Clark pushes back with the right block this time.

"Good," she says. "Again."

It's a new dance they dance the three of them, a modern dance that keeps the bickering tone, but grows in friendly passion when Bruce joins them and they show Clark different hand to hand combat techniques. 

Never shy, Diana makes sure to test her theory, crashing them onto the mat in a tumble, observing the way cheeks flush and glances go from one to the other and back to her. Bruce’s eyes wander to her lips, Clark’s fingers brush along her hips a little too intimately -- and when they topple down and their faces are too close the men blush and quickly look away from each other. This dance Diana has danced before -- the passion of combat swelling and flourishing until it ends in a crescendo of lust and pleasure. She’s danced it with sister-lovers, and she’s ready to dance it to its fulfillment with her fellow heroes.

The spark flies over when she and Bruce have Clark pinned to the mat, in mock defeat. Her lips touch Bruce’s in a short and sweet celebration of their victory. He follows her in, before pulling away.

Clark clears his throat awkwardly. “I can leave if you want to talk this…”

“No,” she says decidedly, and Bruce looks as surprised as Clark. She lets them both sit up on their haunches. They form a little circle of conspirators the three of them, heads leaning forward to hear when Diana speaks: “There will be no secrets between us. There will be no jealousy between us.”

She takes the lasso and entangles their fists with it. 

Bruce’s eyes darken, and Clark stares at the thin gold of Hestia’s truth in surprise. 

“What are you saying? That we make a pact?” 

“I say we make a _pack_ , the three of us,” she says and gives him her fiercest smile. 

In Bruce she can see immediate understanding. He looks at Clark.

“Tell him,” Diana demands, and knows neither of them can lie with the compelling power of the lasso at work.

“I want you,” Bruce says simply. “Both of you.”

Clark’s cheeks flare red, but his eyes catch fire.

“Kiss,” Diana suggests to him, and Clark leans in, eager, now that his passion was granted permission. 

It should be awkward, a gradual learning curve, but they meet each other halfway, and the kiss melts into an embrace, and they are half on top each other before it ends. She feels her ow passion, stirred by combat and closeness, grow into the tingling need of being touched. 

Their three fists are still bound. She’s still part of it -- but now that this growing bond between them is acknowledged she needs more. She pushes Clark down again, Bruce coming down beside them. Diana kisses Clark hard, demanding, lets him feel her passion as she grinds against his growing erection.

“We want you and you us, and both of us want Bruce. It’s the simplest truth, isn’t it?”

Clark moans.

She sits up to glance at Bruce. No more words are needed as they push and claw at kevlar and Kryptonian fabric. Bruce is already pushing Clark up a bit so they can maneuver him into Bruce’s lap. She massages Clark’s cock the rest of the way into hardness, hears Bruce grunt when he touches Clark, loosening strong muscles for entry, 

It’s the most erotic thing imaginable, when she finally slides down on Clark, kissing Bruce over his shoulder -- all of them bound by the lasso, no secrets between them, not even half out of their uniforms. 

“Harder,” Clark demands, breathless.

“You’ve never been had like this,” Bruce states more than asks. It’s like a spike of delicious fire in her loins to hear the realization spoken from another mouth. They are the one - Diana and Bruce - who can have Superman like this. Only them.

“Never-- please,” Clark answers compelled, and Bruce growls in answer, a faint relieved moan of pleasure, drawn into existence by the truth-bringer; Diana sighs into Clark’s hair and flexes her muscular thighs, urging him to give her some of his strength and passion.

They are one, suddenly. Nothing can tear them apart. Together they set the perfect rhythm of their trinity, bound, bonded, one; no space between them to keep them apart. Three bodies, one goal, one love, one unit.

She gasps, her own climax closer than she expected.

She feels no shame or disappointment when it washed over her too soon, and they fall onto the mat in a tangle of half-shed clothes and sweaty limbs. Clark looks disheveled, and Bruce terribly put together. Their hands are still bound, and nobody’s moving to escape the warm and sticky tangle.

This is what it means to be three, but one. Clark rests his head on her shoulder, Bruce squeezes her fingers.

He says: “You planned this?”

“No,” she says, and the lasso isn’t allowing a lie, “but I wanted it and thought the two of you did too. So I sped it along a little.”

Clark hums. “Good thinking.”

Indeed, there’s no need for disappointment. This is only the beginning.


End file.
